Hexa what?
by Phx
Summary: Well, Dean always said Sam was fragile... He just had no idea how right he was.


A little challenge fic between myself and Trasan. Here is mine - I hope you like it. Set anytime in the series. Thanks Alaina for the beta!

**Hexa What?**

_Sam hated this hunt right from the beginning. There was nothing worse than an evil wizard, except maybe an evil wizard with a superiority complex, and Kincaid Mac was one such being. The most insulting part of it all was that when the brothers had first met Kincaid they had liked the white haired old librarian. He was well spoken and had a genteel mannerism that certainly did not make them think he had anything to do with the mutant killing machines that were stalking the fine citizens of this small New England town. Kincaid was helpful and very concerned about what was happening, but now, well, they didn't like him so much and that was largely due to their current situation._

_Or more accurately, Sam's current position._

_Currently, Sam was a glass of water. More accurately, he was the tall glass that Kincaid had just poured cold water into. Damn wizards. Talk about a weird experience. Sam could see everything and he could certainly could feel the icy chill of the liquid and wetness that filled him half way, but beyond that, there was nothing. No toes, fingers, eyes, hair, nothing._

_And then to add insult to injury, the wizard had just offered Dean a drink!_

_Sam was horrified._

_But thank God, the older hunter had declined._

_Not that he knew Sam was the glass – he just knew Sam hadn't come back from his last fact finding mission at the library and that pretty much narrowed things down to Kincaid's involvement. Especially since the convincing bull-shitter claimed not to have seen Sam at all that day._

_Sam just wished they'd figured things out, earlier. Like preferably before he was turned into a glass of water._

------

"I'm not going to ask you again," Dean growled, furious at the deceptive old man standing in front of him. "Where the hell is my brother?"

"Dear boy, what use would I have for your sibling?" Kincaid smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. They were cold, reptilian now that Dean was on to him. How the heck he had managed to get one over on them was beyond him, but Dean wasn't ready to self-flagellate until he found Sam and kicked his brother's ass for getting into whatever the hell he'd gotten into this time, first.

Evil wizards who liked to turn morons into marauding deformed beasts? Who knew?

Dean slammed his hands down on the table separating them, pleased to see the tall glass of water and the half full pitcher sitting next to it give a little jump, water sloshed over the edge of the glass. He bellowed, "_Where is he_?!"

"I thought we were finished that particular conversation?" Kincaid was seemingly unperturbed by Dean's anger, his tone unpleasantly condescending. "You promised you wouldn't ask me again."

"You son of a bitch," the hunter spat, straightening up. Kincaid started to reach for something in his tweed smoking jacket pocket but in one fluid movement, Dean had his handgun out and pointed at the older man's face. "Hands where I can see them." A wizard was harmless without his wand and Dean had no intention of letting this slime ball get the edge on him.

"Now, now, let's not be hasty," the wizard held up his hands in a soothing manner. "No need for violence."

Dean glared at him, the only thing keeping him from plugging the arrogant bastard was the fear that he'd never find Sam if he did. God knows what this guy did to, or turned the kid into. "Where. Is. Sam?"

"Ooooh… he's around," the man smiled smugly and indicated the glass of water again. "Please, have a drink. I assure you the water is cold."

"I'm sure," Dean sneered. "But I think I'd rather gut myself first… with a blunt knife."

The wizard's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well, you certainly don't suffer from aichmophobia…" a contemplative looked crossed his face. "Although since the knife would need to be dulled, maybe you do."

Dean snorted, not to be out-done by the pompous dick, "Yeah, well, if you don't tell me what you did with my brother, you'll be suffering from algophobia by the time I'm finished with you."

"_Algophobia_?" the man seemed to turn the word around in his brain. He smiled. "The fear of pain… you're learned in phobias? I must say, I'm surprised."

"Why?" the hunter's grip tightened on his gun, "you think I'm the dumb one on the team?"

Kincaid laughed. "Oh no, dear boy, hardly. I just wasn't sure you could read!"

------

_Sam was furious. There was not one damn thing he could do, but he still was furious. Shoot him, he wanted to scream, just shoot him! It might mean that he'd spend the rest of his life, or whatever, as a glass but he was too angry to care. No one insulted his brother's intelligence and got away with it. No one._

_That was it. _

_If Kincaid dared try to take a drink, he was going to get a mouthful of glass! Sam wasn't exactly sure how he'd do it, but he would figure something out. _

------

"Oh I can read," Dean's tone was venomous. "In fact I can read _very_ well."

Kincaid must have picked up on something because the smug look on his face was replaced with wariness.

"In fact, after Sam left this morning, to_ not_ come here apparently," Dean knew otherwise but he was humoring the ass. "I did my own research. Booted up the laptop and everything… all by myself. Any idea what I was looking for, Merlin?"

The wizard didn't say anything. He glanced down at the glass – dry mouthed from nervousness, probably, Dean figured – and then looked back at the hunter.

"I was curious about the town's benevolent old librarian… About the man who'd been so warmly inviting and informative every since we showed up three days ago… and do you know what I found out?"

"I have no time for this," Kincaid started to leave but Dean's voice cut him off.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing-"

The old man stopped. He turned back towards the table.

Dean finished, "except an interesting little article that you wrote a couple of years ago."

This time Kincaid visibly paled.

_Gotcha._

"On June 6, 2006."

"No…" The word was whispered but Dean ignored it. His eyes so hard the green could cut rock.

"Six."

Now Kincaid was nervous looking, he reached for the glass and started to take a drink. Then yelped and looked down at the edge in shock, red blood dribbling down his chin.

"Six."

------

_Sam's victory was short-lived-_

------

Kincaid threw the glass at Dean.

The hunter caught it.

"Six."

"No!" the wizard snarled, agitated. He wiped his bloody lip.

"Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia."

Kincaid started to back away.

Dean carefully put the glass back down on the table and started to follow him.

"The fear of the number 666… your article went on and on about how terrifying June 6, 2006 was going to be, among other things. Pretty twisted actually."

The man was badly shaking now and Dean lunged, grabbed him and shoved him against a bookshelf. "Tell me, you bastard, where my brother is or, I swear to God, I will _carve_ that number into your chest with a very shiny knife." He pressed his face towards the wizard's. "Like you said, you Sauron wannabe… I'm not afraid of sharp pointy things."

"Okay! Okay!" Kincaid was no longer pretentious, or refined, his irrational fear of the number 666 reducing him to a terrified, non-threat. Dean wasn't naive enough to think that he wasn't still dangerous, just not a threat at this moment. "There! He's right there!"

The wizard was pointing at the table. At the very tall glass that had only just moments before been caught by Dean… before it was broken – and felt sick. He'd almost batted the glass away.

It would have shattered on the floor –

He swallowed hard. "What?"

"Your brother," the man hurried to make himself clear. "Sam is that glass. I turned him into one."

Oh. Dean blinked hard. His face twisted in disgust. How dare he? How dare Kincaid Mac take his wonderfully tall, strong, proud brother and turn him into – into a _tumbler?!_ A still tall piece of drinkware.

His stomach turned.

"Turn him back," he hissed, his fury lethal.

Kincaid nodded quickly and slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin wand. Dean still held him against the bookshelf. "Please," the hunter begged, his voice low and menacing, "give me an excuse. Any excuse because I really, really want to kill you right now."

This time it was the wizard who swallowed hard. Sweat beaded his face and Dean could feel the man's heart pounding from where his arm pressed against the old man's neck.

"No funny stuff. I promise." Kincaid's voice was thread thin with fear.

Dean backed off fractionally. He gave his consent with a curt nod.

When Kincaid lifted the wand, the hunter added. "And he better be okay."

The man closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath and then said strongly, "Sand to glass. Man to mass." Then waved the wand and a breath later, a very wet and shaken looking Sam was curled up on top of the table.

Dean snatched the wand and snapped it before Kincaid could stop him. "Next time I see you," he promised. "You're dead."

"W-wait," Sam's voice was shaky and Dean moved to help the kid off the table, grimacing at how cold his brother was. "What a-about the others?" semi-glazed hazel eyes held Dean's imploring him to understand because, apparently being a glass of water took a lot out of a fellow.

And oddly enough, Dean could understand. Hearing about it was bad enough. He turned towards Kincaid before the wizard could leave. He really did want to kill the guy but now that his wand was broken the man was harmless. And, thankfully, each wizard only had one wand. Once it was gone, their days of creating mischief, or in this case evil, were over. "Mac," he growled, "What happens to those poor bastards you turned into monsters, now?"

"Oh them?" Kincaid looked kind of sad. "They'll turn back into the wonderfully charming members of society they were before all this."

Dean doubted that, if Sam was this shaken from being glassware and he'd only been so for a few hours, Dean could only imagine how messed up those poor bastards were going to be. Hopefully they wouldn't remember the worse of it though.

And then the forcibly retired wizard quietly left the library while the older hunter looked his brother over. Sam was wet and shivering but looked pretty much all right other than that. Still he had to ask. "You okay?"

"I've been better," the younger Winchester admitted and then sneezed.

Dean sighed the long-suffering sigh of an older brother, shrugged out of his jacket and pulled it around his longer-limbed sibling. He waited until Sam was steady on his feet, then grabbed one arm gently and started to lead him towards the exit. "Yeah, you sound it."

"You try being a solid for a few hours and see how well you do." Sam stopped and his face screwed up in disgust. "And ewww, he drank from me. It was like… like getting a full body kiss!"

Dean grimaced. "Dude!"

"Well. It was."

Huffing out another sigh and scrubbing his mind of that visual, Dean prodded his brother to move again. "You are _definitely_ showering when we get back to the room."

"You-"

Another sneeze.

"-think?"

"_I think…_ I'm going to be sleep deprived if you keep this up. That's what I think." All bravado, Dean was already planning a quick trip to the pharmacy while Sam was in the shower.

"You are just so sympathetic." Sam whined but there was no heat behind the words. He stopped again and looked at his older brother. "Hey, Dean?"

Dean resisted another sigh. At this rate, Sam would have pneumonia by the time they got back to the car. "Yeah, Sam?"

"Thanks – you know, for catching me. I have no idea what would have happened if I broke, but to be honest, man, I really did not want-" _sneeze_ "-to find out."

"Bless you," Dean got him moving again, then added. "And you're welcome." He suppressed a shiver, just as glad because he was pretty sure broken glass would have equaled broken brother. He nudged the younger man into moving again.

By the time they did get to the car, Sam was almost asleep on his feet but Dean was used to manhandling semi-conscious siblings and had him settled quickly, then hurried around the front of the car and slid behind the wheel.

"How'd'ja know so much 'bout phobias?" Sam's sleepy slurred voice startled Dean as he thought the kid was out for the count. And apparently while his brother had been holding water, he'd also been aware…

And that had had to suck on so many levels.

"Go to sleep, Sam," he ordered lightly instead of answering.

"Dean…"

"Sammy. Sleep."

A disgruntled snuffle turned into a longer exhale and before Dean was even a block away from the library, Sam was asleep.

Glancing fondly at his bundled brother for a moment, Dean turned his attention back to the road and grinned; like he was _ever_ going to tell Sam that he'd spent time researching phobias when they were kids. Or that he'd found it interesting.

_Coulrophobia._ Fear of clowns. Dean had treated it like anything that threatened his younger sibling. He just armed himself with knowledge this time instead of a forty-five.

And that was something he'd take to his grave… But only if he didn't have _taphophobia_ that is.

_Fear of the grave?_

Nah. Definitely not a Winchester worry. This time.

The End

**The challenge was to use the word 'Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia' or the idea of it in a fic. **


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